


I’ve pulled through worse, you know

by Taeyn



Series: I have loved the stars too fondly [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Affection, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apologies, Caretaking, Comfort/Angst, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, F/M, Falling In Love, Fever, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Illnesses, Injury, Insomnia, M/M, Overworking, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sickfic, Team Feels, Tenderness, Trust, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2018-12-15 21:04:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 16,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11814156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taeyn/pseuds/Taeyn
Summary: [full chapter list in opening notes]1. When Shiro gets a cold, Shiro really gets a cold  (Shiro/Keith)2. Lance gets hypothermia and Keith cries because he thinks it’s his fault  (Keith/Lance)3. Shiro and Keith are tortured. They don't expect to face the people they care about most.  (Matt Holt/Shiro, Keith/Lance)4. vulnerable!Kuro can’t sleep, protective!Keith comforts him  (Keith/Kuro, Keith/Shiro)5. Lance is finally on Shiro’s team at the Garrison. Just when he’s coming down with something.  (Lance/Shiro)6. 99% of the time Keith never wants anyone to know he’s sick. 1% of the time he just wants a cuddle.  (Keith/Lance)8. Lance falls ill and Lotor feels unexpectedly emotional  (Lance/Lotor)10. Aboard the castleship, Lotor isn’t as okay as he seems. (Lotor & Team Voltron)12. Shiro overworks to the point of collapse, the rest of the team are there for him  (Shiro & Team Voltron)13. James pushes through his injuries to apologise to Keith  (James Griffin/Keith)14. When Lotor falls ill, Hunk, Lance and Pidge keep him company  (Lotor & Team Voltron)15. Lotor accidentally shares an embarrassing story. (Lotor/Allura)





	1. (Shiro/Keith) I’ve pulled through worse, you know

**Author's Note:**

> **Extended Chapter List:**  
>  1\. When Shiro gets a cold, Shiro really gets a cold (Shiro/Keith)  
> 2\. Lance gets hypothermia and Keith cries because he thinks it’s his fault (Keith/Lance)  
> 3\. Shiro and Keith are tortured. They don't expect to face the people they care about most. (Matt Holt/Shiro, Keith/Lance)  
> 4\. vulnerable!Kuro can’t sleep, protective!Keith comforts him (Keith/Kuro, Keith/Shiro)  
> 5\. Lance is finally on Shiro’s team at the Garrison. Just when he’s coming down with something. (Lance/Shiro)  
> 6\. 99% of the time Keith never wants anyone to know he’s sick. 1% of the time he just wants a cuddle. (Keith/Lance)  
> 7\. Lance thinks he’s gross when he’s sick. Keith makes him feel okay. (Keith/Lance)  
> 8\. Lotor knows Lance will be alright. He’s also all too aware of times when the people close to him haven’t been. (Lance/Lotor)  
> 9\. Acxa feels she owes Lotor the smallest chance (Acxa, Lotor)  
> 10\. Aboard the castleship, Lotor isn’t as okay as he seems. (Lotor & Team Voltron)  
> 11\. Sendak is hurt in battle, Hax is by his side. (Haxus/Sendak)  
> 12\. When Shiro overworks to the point of collapse, the rest of the team are there for him (Shiro & Team Voltron)  
> 13\. James pushes through his injuries to apologise to Keith (James Griffin/Keith)  
> 14\. When Lotor falls ill, Hunk, Lance and Pidge keep him company (Lotor & Team Voltron)  
> 15\. Lotor accidentally shares an embarrassing story. (Lotor/Allura)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Shiro gets a cold, Shiro really gets a cold

Nobody saw it coming, and least of all Shiro.

One second he’s leaning over Pidge, they’re both deep in thought as Pidge replays the security footage. The next Shiro’s pitching sharply to his side, he raises his sleeve as he stumbles over a breath and-

“-jeez!” yelps Pidge, she’s half-fallen out of her chair in surprise.

“Bless you!” Lance yells back equally loudly, grinning. Hunk’s expression veers toward concern, Shiro pops up watery-eyed and sniffling, his face still half-buried in the crook of his arm.

“Excuse me,” he mutters quickly, takes an apologetic step backward and clears his throat. The sneeze sounded as harsh as it did unexpected, Shiro’s voice low and tacky in the aftermath. Pidge hunts for a tissue in her pockets, offers a hug when Shiro apologises to her again.

Keith doesn’t realise he’s staring until Shiro happens to blink in his direction, and Keith scoots his gaze away before either of them can acknowledge it.

Shiro’s mouth tugs down in regret, he folds his arm around his waist as he shivers.

-

Shiro’s quiet at dinner, Keith’s convinced he’s sitting further away than usual.

He sniffles thickly whilst Hunk clears the plates, leakier still as Hunk offers dessert. Shiro sips a breath, he looks like he’s about to answer.

He doesn’t.

Keith sinks down in his chair as Shiro brings up both hands, his expression crumpling to a desperate grimace. He wrenches away from the table, head thrown forward and his eyes squeezed tight above his fingers.

“Oh man, you’re on a roll!” exclaims Lance, he nearly drops his spoon as he startles. The sneeze was forceful enough to warrant Allura pouring out more tea, even Coran looks concerned. Shiro’s cheeks are flushed vaguely pink, he winces as he hauls himself upright.

“Bless you,” says Hunk, sincere, he sets down the armful of plates and hands Shiro the clean dishcloth from his apron.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says huskily, he keeps the dishcloth scrunched in his lap.

“Anyone feel like a round of Mercury GameFlux 2?” Pidge says after a moment, and Shiro’s expression softens ever so slightly.

“I’ll get the converter?” Keith manages, he can’t bring himself to look at Shiro as he pushes his chair back from the table.

“It’s alright, you guys go ahead,” Shiro says gently. “I’m going to turn in early tonight.”

-

Keith finds Shiro in one of the hotpools, his towel tucked behind his head. His lock of white hair droops over one eye, his thumb and forefinger pinched warily on the bridge of his nose.

He gives the beginnings of a cough as he exhales, quickly reaches for his towel to cover the rest.

“You okay?” Keith says gruffly, and something close to relief passes across Shiro’s features to see him.

“Hey. Yeah,” Shiro croaks, tries a half-smile back. “Just a bit stuffy-” he raises a fist, blinks, then shakes his head, makes a sheepish gesture toward the steam. “-but this might help.”

Keith nods, crosses his arms uncomfortably over his front. Shiro’s nostrils flinch as he sniffles, he grazes a knuckle below his nose.

“It’s just a cold,” Shiro ventures again, reassuring. “I’ll knock it over in a day or so-”

His voice wavers, eyebrows snagged as his expression pulls uneven, he sucks a despairing inhale. Shiro clenches his fist over his mouth, his chest lifting as he jerks toward his shoulder, aims a violent sneeze away from Keith.

The sound echos in the silence that follows, Shiro’s breath hitches and he scrambles with his Galra hand for the towel, mouth trembling ajar, before-

Keith squints, sympathetic, Shiro sneezes for a second time and lowers the towel from his face, exhausted.

“Uugh, that kind of hurt…” Shiro gives a crooked smile, his voice far heavier for the outburst. “I’m usually only good for one.”

His smile slowly falls as Keith doesn’t answer.

“Thanks for keeping me company,” Shiro says quietly, unsure. He brushes a hand to Keith’s shoulder, lets go before Keith can squeeze back.

-

Shiro’s still awake when Keith slips into his bedroom, gently sits on one side of Shiro’s bed. Shiro’s turned toward the wall, doesn’t shift to face him.

Tentative, Keith touches his palm to the middle of Shiro’s back, the warmth of a fever prickling through the taller man’s shirt. Shiro muffles a hoarse-sounding cough, then manages to suppress it as Keith curls in closer, wraps an arm over Shiro’s middle.

“I’m sorry I’m being weird,” Keith whispers, Shiro’s posture relaxes a fraction as he gives a bleary sniffle.

“I’m here if you want to talk,” Shiro says softly, his voice coarse and ruined. “And I’m still here if you don’t.”

Shiro’s chest expands a little beneath Keith’s arm, he taps a finger to Keith’s wrist, hesitates.

“Keith-” Shiro says anxiously, when Keith rests his face against Shiro’s broad shoulder.

It’s as much warning as Shiro can manage. He gasps, then ducks toward the front of his shirt, his chest seizing as he flinches from the waist. 

“Bless,” Keith says miserably. Shiro sniffles- awfully- then carefully turns to face him.

“Thank you?” Shiro whispers, and he sounds so grateful that Keith feels an unfamiliar sting behind his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Shiro murmurs again, understanding. “Believe it or not, I don’t want anyone to catch this either.”

“What,  _no_ , that’s not it at all,” Keith blurts, while Shiro’s expression becomes oddly panicked. His brow barely misses Keith’s chest as he holds-in a last sneeze, he looks near-delirious as he comes up for air.

“It’s- oh my god, again, bless you,” says Keith, and he gathers Shiro in his arms, rubs a small, soothing circle to the middle of Shiro’s back.

Shiro leans into him, drained and shaky.

“I’ve pulled through worse, you know,” he jokes weakly, peers up at Keith through the mess of his hair, then, “…sorry.”

Keith shakes his head and hugs tighter, listens as Shiro’s breathing eases, his cheek tucked below Keith’s jaw.

“Sometimes it just hits me,” Keith finally whispers, when he’s almost sure Shiro’s asleep. “That you can get sick. That you can get hurt. That one day, I might not be there to-”

Slowly, Shiro meets his gaze, his scar bright and eyes dark, he leans his brow into Keith’s when no words are enough.

“I won’t,” Shiro stops him, firm, he’ll believe it because Keith needs to. “You will be.”

But he doesn’t let go.

-


	2. (Keith/Lance) there, okay, better...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance gets hypothermia and Keith cries because he thinks it’s his fault

“Okay, I think I’ve got it.”

Keith holds the sealing beam to the last panel, Lance offers a weak thumbs-up. They’ve been on repairs for hours, Hunk gives an exhausted wave from the communication spires as Pidge fixes the alignment.

“You’re done too?” Lance mumbles into his helmet, he drifts to Keith’s left in empty space.

“Yep, all good,” Pidge says cheerily, Hunk’s _roger that!_ echoing in unison.

“Good timing, guys,” calls Shiro, he’s only just managed to get the hatch reopened. “Let’s wrap this up.”

Lance’s jetpack doesn’t propel him quite as swiftly as usual, and Keith pretends to give the castle a last inspection so that Lance can catch up.

“You ‘right?” Shiro says gently, catches Lance by the waist as he nearly misses the hatch completely. Lance blinks at him, not quite registering the question, and it isn’t until Shiro guides him inside the ship that he nods.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Lance stumbles as he adjusts to the gravity, the blue helmet slips from his grasp as he tries to take it off.

“Hey,” Keith mutters, he ventures a hand to the back of Lance’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”

Lance turns to him, confused.

“Uh, not much,” he tries, offers a half-smile. “Nothing balanced or coordinated, at least.”

“Lance, let me see your jetpack,” Shiro says after a moment, and something in Keith’s chest feels hollow and uncertain, some vital point he’s missed. Shiro steps closer, calm, keeps one hand steadied at Lance’s arm as he inspects the paladin’s armor. Lance leans into Shiro’s grip, quiet and shaky.

“Okay. It’s okay,” Shiro says reassuringly, but he doesn’t move his hand from Lance’s arm. “Pidge, Hunk, could you guys grab some blankets? As many as you can, just bring them back here. Keith, if you could-”

Lance sinks forward, Shiro quickly scooping both his arms around the smaller paladin’s chest to hold him up. Keith is at Lance’s side a second later, he doesn’t even remember sprinting.

“What’s wrong?” blurts Keith, his voice hoarse and strangled and not at all like his own. Lance’s breathing is shallow, his whole body twitching.

“The jetpacks are next to the suit’s thermo-sensors,” Shiro explains in a low voice, leans down to keep eye-contact with Lance as he unclips Lance’s armor. “It looks like the explosion might’ve damaged Lance’s temperature regulator.”

Keith’s mouth feels dry, a prickling sense of panic clawing at his windpipe.

“So what, he just spent two hours in open space… without…”

Keith’s knuckles are white, his fingers caged on the now-loosened front of Lance’s suit. Lance’s violent shivering is all the more obvious through his undershirt.

“Hey,” Lance croaks, something unclouding in his gaze. He glances at his chest, manages a crooked smile. “If only these were different circumstances,” he finishes, nods wryly at Keith’s hands.

Keith glares back at him, fiercer and fiercer for every passing second. Shiro tries to catch Lance’s attention, without success.

“You know… because... you’re taking off my…” Lance tries to clarify, he twitches an eyebrow and waits for Keith to get annoyed, or laugh, or both.

Keith’s arms drop limply by his sides, his head spinning and his stomach falling, the room feels uncomfortably bright.

And then Keith bursts into tears.

“Oh _oh_ , okay that was _not_ one of my best jokes,” Lance says hurriedly, his hands are suddenly patting Keith’s shoulders, then clumsily rubbing his back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was only trying to be like, hey, if this is what it takes for Keith to, um, oh _shit-_ ”

Keith makes a guttural sounding sob, his cheeks are soaked and his breath heavy, he needs to rein it in and that’s about the last thing that he cares about right now.

He was the one outside with Lance.

And he didn’t notice a single thing.

“No no-no please don’t-” Lance scrambles out of the rest of the suit, Shiro barely has to help. Keith feels both Lance’s arms wrap tight around his neck, he presses Keith’s face into his shoulder, Keith spluttering wetly as his inhale catches in his throat.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Lance babbles, he doesn’t let go as Keith’s shoulders jerk forcefully, worse every time he tries to apologise. Keith’s making a mess on Lance’s shirt, his arms won’t even lift to hug him back.

“Hey… _hey_ ,” Lance whispers, his voice sounds huskier too. When Keith only cries harder Lance pulls gently back, dips his knees so he can look at him.

“Hey,” Lance says softly, his eyebrows tipping in relief when Keith manages to nod. “It wasn’t your fault- no listen to me, honestly _I_ didn’t even realise, if you can believe I was concentrating that hard-”

“ _Of course I can believe you-!_ ” Keith wails, and Lance holds up both palms, it’s nowhere near funny but his mouth hitches up at the corners.

“I’m just saying,” Lance murmurs, both hands on Keith’s shoulders. “That this isn’t on you. It isn’t on _anyone_. So, like… stop trying to take the credit?”

He gives a tentative grin, and in spite of everything, Keith almost smiles.

“Okay, phew, I thought I was going to have to explain that one too-” Lance breathes out, and before Keith can gather his bearings, he gently reaches his sleeve and wipes below Keith’s nose.

“Oops, hold still… there, okay, better,” says Lance, he laughs as Keith’s expression falls in horror.

Lance winks.

“Still hot.”

“Lance, we need to get you warmed up,” Shiro offers after a second, not unkindly. Keith has no idea how long the others have been standing there with the blankets. “Rest and warm liquids, and we’ll need to keep an eye on you, alright?”

“I’ll stay,” Keith says through a sniffle, he has no plans to leave Lance’s side until he’s recovered.

“Yeah, but then who’s going to keep an eye on Keith?” Pidge teases, Keith’s well aware he probably looks worse than Lance.

The comment makes him feel better all the same.

“I think I can manage it,” Hunk chimes in, brims to a smile as Lance laughs.

“Okay, so then I’ll keep an eye on Hunk,” Pidge continues, “and that means Shiro, you’ll have to keep an eye on me-”

Shiro can’t keep a straight face either as the team slowly helps Lance to his room.

Later, when Keith and Lance are the only ones still awake after the film, Keith lets his head rest on Lance’s pillow.

“Things can just... change so fast,” Keith mutters, closes his eyes as Lance tucks into his chest.

“Yeah,” says Lance, quiet, he listens to Keith’s heartbeat. “Yeah.”

-


	3. (Matt/Shiro, Keith/Shiro, Keith/Lance) come back to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro and Keith are tortured. They don’t expect to come face to face with the people they care about most.

“You should both be familiar with these, I think,” says Lotor, his voice light and vaguely curious. “I hear the Blade of Marmora use the same technology.”

From the corner of his eye, Keith sees Shiro stir, slowly sit up. They’re both in suits of blue and grey, strangely similar to Lotor’s own.

“Of course, my suits are _slightly_ different,” Lotor continues, he leans leisurely up against the wall. “And far more useful, obviously.”

“Useful for what?” Keith snaps, ignores a firm glance from Shiro.

_Don’t engage him._

“For me,” Lotor says calmly, his smile uneasily genuine. “For finding out who you really are.”

Lotor’s eyes don’t leave Keith’s as he gently closes the door, their pale yellow glow stays with him long after the room goes dark.

They’re no longer alone.

“Matt?” Shiro whispers, and a tall, auburn-haired youth stares back at him, his eyes shy and his smile trembling.

“Are you okay?” Matt asks softly, he comes and kneels beside Shiro, close enough to touch. “Did the plan work?”

Shiro nods, his lips have parted as he chokes out a breath, his eyes are watery bright. Keith feels a cold sense of dread welling in his chest.

“Where are you, Matt?” Shiro rasps, tries to reach for him. “What happened, where are they keeping you, I swear, I’ll-”

But Matt is shaking his head, the vision is fading.

“Don’t come,” he whispers, there’s relief in his voice as his face goes blurry dark. “I knew one of us would make it…”

Shiro lunges, makes a horrible, wrenching sound as his arms pass through Matt’s uniform. Matt smiles, sad.

“...I’m just so glad it was you.”

Shiro collapses to his knees, his chest heaving as he hisses a breath through his teeth. A tear catches the line of his jaw as it falls, his mouth grimaced and fists clenched, Keith scrambles to hold him as Matt disappears.

“It’s not real!” Keith yells, seeing Shiro cry strikes something hot and aching through his lungs. “Matt’s going to be fine! We’re going to get out of this and find him, okay? You hear me? The only people here are you and me!”

“Ouch, that’s a bit harsh,” says Lance, and Keith spins around, his mouth crumples as his throat goes tight.

“Hey, hey, I’m just being an idiot,” Lance says gently, and Keith shakes his head, eyebrows scrunching with hope. “I’m just glad I get to see you again. I’m... emotional.”

“No, it was funny,” Keith says huskily. It’s the stupidest thing, but Keith suddenly wishes he _had_ laughed at more of Lance’s jokes.

He always did find them funny.

He always missed them when Lance wasn’t around...

“Yeah?” murmurs Lance, surprised, something strangely vulnerable crosses his eyes.

“... _tron_ ,” Keith says under his breath, his whole world is splintering and he fights to hang on. “When you say Volt, I say…”

“Uughh, _Keith_...” Lance finishes, he blinks and gives a leaky sniffle as his image starts to wane. “What a time to make me want to hug you and never let go.”

“Lance, wait!” Keith blurts, but Lance has slipped away, he’s left shouting at the dark.

“Keith,” whispers Shiro, he’s drained and injured but he reaches for Keith’s hand, pulls Keith against his chest as Keith sobs. “Shhh-hh, I’m here. I’m getting us out of this, okay? Come back to me, easy, that’s it…”

Shiro’s trembling just as badly, he pats Keith’s back as the smaller paladin coughs into his shoulder.

“I’m letting you down,” Keith manages, distraught. “I’m trying to focus, and all I keep seeing is…”

“ _Lance?_ ” says Shiro, his voice low and wary. Keith twists around, startled, in front of them Lance has reappeared, this time he looks determined. Beside him is...

“... _Matt_...” whispers Keith, and Matt strides forward, offers his hand to pull Keith up.

When their palms clasp, Matt’s grip is strong and firm.

“You don’t have long,” Lance says hurriedly, and he presses his hand to the panel at the edge of the chamber. The door disengages, an empty passageway outside.

“How are you doing this?” Keith croaks, Lance is moving to help Shiro as Matt quickly guides Keith to the door.

“I’m not,” Lance says softly, he steadies Shiro as he stumbles. “You are.”

They run, footsteps pounding toward the upper deck,  Shiro’s jaw is gritted and Keith’s eyes dark and fierce.

“Shall we let them go?” says Ezor, perched cheerily in Lotor’s chamber as the other Generals watch in silence. “Are they more interesting than we thought?”

Lotor gently raises a hand. Zethrid sits back down, disappointed.

“Yes,” says Lotor, tips his head to one side as the paladins reach an escape craft. “And yes...”

Shiro shifts the Galra ship to accelerate, Keith charges up the weapons.

“ _Now!_ ” shouts Lance, he dives for a sentry taking aim, flickers and dissolves.

“ _Go!_ ” yells Matt, he hits the exit hatch, meets Shiro’s eyes and nods, fades.

Lotor smiles.

“...Infinitely.”

-


	4. (Keith/Kuro, Keith/Shiro) or just needed to know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> vulnerable!Kuro can’t sleep, protective!Keith comforts him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really want everything to be okay for Kuro ;w; <3

Keith sits on Shiro’s bed, moves beside him, takes a breath. Shiro doesn’t stir, or even acknowledge him, the shadows beneath his eyes look like bruises in the dark.

Except it isn’t Shiro. Keith knows it, and Shiro knows it, and Keith _doesn’t_ know the first thing about making something like this okay, only that he won’t rest either until he does.

“I heard you walking about,” Keith says softly. He ventures his hand toward Shiro’s hair- damp and matted on his forehead- thinks to check for a fever, or just run his fingers through the tangled strands, quiet and steady until Shiro goes to sleep.

Keith pauses, scrunches his fist and lowers it to his lap. Shiro might not want him to do that.

Not now.

Shiro’s stare flickers toward Keith’s hand. His mouth pulls down at the corners, he blinks for a second too long. It takes Keith a moment to read it, and when he does, something small and sad uncurls in his chest.

…Shiro’s trying not to look hurt.

“Hey,” Keith whispers, but falls silent as Shiro turns aside to cough- once- twice- then he shakes his head, exhausted, eyes watering behind his sleeve as the fit continues. Keith knew Shiro hadn’t been sleeping properly- not since they’d found out- but it’s only been a matter of days, and he’s shocked to realise just how much worse he sounds.

“Here, shh- hey- I’m going to sit you up, okay?” Keith murmurs, reaches both hands below Shiro’s arms. It barely makes a difference as he tries to lift, but Shiro pretends it does by helping, manages a shaky smile as Keith settles him upright.

“Thank you,” Shiro mumbles, and he sounds so drained that Keith can nearly feel it, a pang of emptiness swelling in his own chest.

“I care about you,” Keith says suddenly, the words unexpectedly fierce. “I still care about you. I want you to know that.”

He raises a hand to Shiro’s cheek, clumsy, he wants so much to hold him, but-

Shiro closes his eyes, his torso lifts with an inhale and he leans into Keith’s touch, his expression gritted in that same, stern sort of grimace that Shiro- _Keith’s_ Shiro- gives when he’s trying not to cry.

... it never really works for Shiro either.

“Sorry-” gasps Shiro, and he angles his face the other way, as if trying to spare Keith the sight of it. “You don’t have to do this. I’m not him. I-”

He clears his throat, harsh and desperate as he tries to keep his voice steady, sucks a breath through his teeth as it falls apart. He’s beyond exhausted, brushes a hand to his chest as the depth of it seems almost tangible.

“I’m here for _you_ , Kuro,” Keith whispers harshly, and it isn’t until the words leave him that he realises how much he needs to hear them too. “And the absolute very, _very_ last thing you need to be, for something that is _the_ furthest thing possible from being your fault…”

Shiro turns back to face him, wipes his nose on his sleeve.

“...is sorry,” Keith finishes, “for anything.”

Keith lowers his gaze in the silence that follows, jaw clenched and pulse still whirring. But then, slowly, Shiro smiles, so weakly that it almost breaks Keith’s heart, and mumbles,

“...Kuro?”

For a moment Keith blinks- _where- how did…_

And then his outburst replays in his head, and his cheeks flush warm with regret.

“Oh,” says Keith, and then, “ _ohh.._ ”

“You want to call me something different?” Shiro says softly.

“No, no no, not if you don’t want me to-” Keith stumbles, but Shiro reaches for his hand, gives a tentative squeeze. His fingers are strong, slightly calloused and gentle, his expression less haunted as Keith squeezes tightly back.

“I... am _so_ sorry,” Keith says again, swallows. “I didn’t mean to say that. Not before I asked you. It’s just something that came to me- in case _you_ ever wanted us to. Because it sounds a bit like Shiro, uhm, and-”

Shiro looks more curious than upset, his eyes somehow less bloodshot as he blinks, then sniffles.

“...and a bit like Keith,” Keith mumbles, feeling worse than ridiculous as he hears _that_ out loud.

“Oh my god,” Keith says after a second, when Shiro doesn’t reply. “Can we please forget I ever said that, I-”

“-I like it,” Kuro murmurs under his breath, gives a small smile as he glances up.

The tips of Keith’s ears prickle uncomfortably warm. Kuro nods again, shyly covers his mouth as he yawns.

And then Keith smiles back.

“Hey,” he says softly, Kuro hasn’t looked this relaxed for days. “Why don’t we see if we can get you to sleep for a bit, huh? It’s okay if you wake up- I’ll be right here, and we can always give it another go later-”

He keeps talking, gets up to lower the temperature a notch, then fetches Kuro a second blanket. Kuro watches, wary, his posture stiffens slightly as he braces himself for the attempt.

Keith moves back to the bed, gently lays next to him.

“Can I try something?”

Kuro turns his head, hopeful, nods sheepishly again.

“Okay,” Keith murmurs, wriggles closer. When he lays down again, his head is resting in the middle of Kuro’s chest. Kuro’s body unclenches as the weight sinks against him, he lets out an aching breath.

“Oh,” says Kuro, and then, “ _ohh.._ ”

“Yeah-” Keith smiles, gives a husky laugh. “It’s kind of comforting, right?”

“Yes,” Kuro whispers, peers down at him as his hair falls over his eyes. “...yes.”

“Shiro would sometimes lay like this with me,” Keith admits, and being able to say that comforts him too. “When I had a nightmare, or just… needed to know...”

“...that he was there,” says Kuro, and Keith tucks Kuro’s arm around him, feels his breath slowly lengthen, his eyelids drooping closed.

“That I was too,” Keith says quietly.

-


	5. (Lance/Shiro) hey, it’s me, it’s Shiro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is finally on Shiro’s team at the Garrison. Just when he’s coming down with something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sometimes write hurt/comfort requests on tumblr, the prompt for this one was~
> 
> _Lance has been pining for years and because of an extraordinary set of circumstances him and Shiro are on the same team. Lance wants to keep up a good appearance in front of Shiro, but one day during a training simulation Lance is supposed to be providing cover but keeps missing. He's feeling dizzy, head pounding, body aching. Lance tries to just say he's had a bad day and goes to his room, but Shiro follows to check on him. Shiro discovers Lance collapsed in his room._

“You can do this,” says Pidge, she sits cross-legged on Lance’s bed as Lance paces back and forth. “That’s why they chose you, Lance. Because you have the scores.”

“They chose me because I’m the very last option!” Lance wails, runs his hands through his hair until it sticks out at several odd angles. “Keith’s sick. You’re sick. And now your brother’s sick. There are literally no other walking, talking cadets who aren’t on other missions. Like, I appreciate the pep talk and all, but-”

“-actually,” interrupts Pidge, while Lance collapses face-first on the mattress.

“- _actually,_ ” Pidge starts again, laughing as Lance rolls over, face hidden behind his palms as he makes a dramatic groan of despair. “With Matt out of action, the simulation was supposed to be cancelled. But then Shiro asked for you as a replacement.”

Lance holds his breath, it takes a second to sink in. Then he lets it out in a rush, sits upright and-

“What?” Lance blurts.

“Shiro asked for you,” says Pidge, sincere. “You. Specifically. Matt said he even had to get special permission, since you haven’t clocked up enough training hours yet.”

“...special permission…?” says Lance, his voice high and rising. “We are talking about the same Shiro, right? First-class-honours Shiro? Beat-the-record-on-his-first-go Shiro? _Youngest pilot with a level ten clearance Shiro?”_

“Lance,” Pidge says softly. She bumps Lance’s ankle with her sock, her gaze steady when he manages to look at her. “You can do this.”

-

Lance fumbles with the sights on his blaster, the practice weapon nearly clatters to the ground.

“Apologies,” Shiro says quickly, his hand half-raised and his mouth parted in surprise. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I-”

Lance shakes his head, breathes out a laugh as Shiro offers a sheepish smile, then a handshake.

“-I just wanted to thank you for coming on board. I know it was really last minute.”

“Oh no way, I’m happy to,” Lance babbles, the tips of his ears flush warm as he grips Shiro’s hand. “I think I’m just a bit jumpy, you know? I really want to do my best for the team.”

Lance half-expects Shiro to dismiss it, focus more, stress less, that sort of thing. But then Shiro nods, he pulls himself up on the bench beside Lance.

“If there’s anything I can help with out there, just yell,” says Shiro. “Whatever happens, remember we’re all here for you too.”

Lance leans his head back against the wall, feels his heartbeat slowly ease, his fingers no longer shaky. He never, never in a billion years, expected to be waiting outside the training simulator with Takashi Shirogane.

Even less, feel like he was actually meant to be there.

-

“Shiro- _Shiro!_ \- I’m so sorry-!” Lance screams, because for a second as the explosion hits him, it’s hard to believe it’s just a hologram.

“You’re all good, Lance!” calls Shiro, but he’s breathing hard, he wouldn’t be this exhausted if Lance could actually land one of his marks. “I’m going through the passage now, do you see me?”

“I see you!” says Lance, but he’s scrambling, he needs to reposition and the room feels like it’s spinning. “I- I’m- just a sec-”

He crawls, too lightheaded to stand, his chest is aching and his throat dry and sticky.

“Everyone ready?” Shiro shouts, encouraging, but the sound echoes far too loud in Lance’s helmet. They’ve been training for hours, and what started as a prickle is now a tight, throbbing pain behind Lance’s eyes. “Okay, go time!”

Shiro moves, Lance aims to give him cover. And misses.

Again.

And again.

“ _Shit-_ ” Lance hisses, his muscles are burning but he forces the laser gun higher on his shoulder. Shiro’s dodging sentries faster than Lance can lock them in, and then-

“Alright guys,” comes Shiro’s voice, and the lights flicker, blur from dark to bright as the simulation fades. “Great job today team, we got really far.”

“Wh- what happened?” Lance says weakly, his voice sounds faraway even to him. Lance studied the maps, there are still two more stages they haven’t covered yet.

There is a small silence, and then,

“You accidentally hit one of the penalty zones,” Shiro says gently, and it’s the fact that he _doesn’t_ sound mad that nearly kills Lance. “It’s an instant fail.”

Lance pulls off his equipment, eyes squeezed and teeth gritted as his helmet drops to the ground.

Shiro’s voice sounds concerned through the helmet's speaker, Lance doesn't pick it up to hear.

-

“I’m okay, I’m fine, I’m just-”

Lance blinks again, because firstly he has no idea what he’s trying to say, and secondly he’s pretty sure that’s Shiro leaning over him.

...and that he’s sprawled across his own bedroom floor.

“Hey, hey, it’s me- it’s Shiro,” Shiro whispers, and Lance realises he’s shivering violently, he must look about as awful as he feels. “I tried to catch you… and… I didn’t quite make it.”

Lance squints, Shiro’s features fading in and out of focus. He remembers getting back to his room, his vision going fuzzy and his legs suddenly trembling. Shiro was calling his name, the next second sprinting down the passage as Lance collapsed to his knees.

“Yeah,” Lance croaks, his smile feels vague and lopsided. “Well. I... kinda had a headstart.”

Shiro lets out a breath, his eyes water in relief.

“We need to get you to medbay,” he murmurs, then leans down, gathers one arm under Lance’s knees, the other tucked behind his head. “...easy, that's it, there we go-”

Shiro’s voice sounds low and reassuring as he lifts Lance against his chest, carefully gets to his feet. Lance leans his brow into Shiro’s torso, the taller cadet’s breathing slow and soothing, his shirt warm and his scent of carbon ash and wool.

And then Lance realises what Shiro just said.

“Wait wait wait no-” Lance splutters, takes a sharp inhale, then immediately regrets it as he starts coughing. “I’m good, I’m good, honestly it’s nothing, you don’t have to worry-”

“Lance, you just passed out right in front of me,” says Shiro, caught between surprise and disbelief. His eyebrows crumple in concern as Lance coughs even harder, desperately tries to turn away.

“I was just tired,” croaks Lance, and Shiro sets him down on his bed, tentatively pats Lance on the back till he can breathe.

“Lance, I don’t want to alarm you...” Shiro tries again, and he looks genuinely unsure about how to phrase his next words. He reaches a hand, his knuckles cool and smooth on Lance’s forehead as Lance leans into the touch.

“...but I think it might be slightly more than that?” Shiro finishes, and he gives a sympathetic frown, his thumb brushes a drop of Lance’s sweat before it reaches his eye. He looks worried in the second that follows, draws back his hand as if he might’ve overstepped.

Lance wants to tell him it’s okay, that he’s right... that he appreciates it.

“I’m sorry, Shiro,” is what comes out, and his voice cracks miserably, either from the fever or with the emotion of it. “...for not coming through for you. When it was you who needed me.”

Lance pinches his nose before it can run, forces himself to hold Shiro’s gaze. He’s embarrassed- even worse he’s sure _Shiro’s_ embarrassed- but Shiro took a chance on him, at the very least Lance owes him an apology.

“I understand why you might think that,” Shiro says quietly, and for a moment he almost looks like he’s going to offer a hug. He clears his throat, uncertain. “But you didn’t give up today. That means a lot, and-”

Lance’s head jerks toward his lap as he holds-in a forceful sneeze.

“Sorry-” Lance blurts, bounces back up a second later “-bad timing.”

“And-” Shiro tries not to smile and fails “-bless you- and I learnt a lot about myself out there too. I already have some really good ideas for next time.”

Lance sniffles, for a moment he’s pretty sure his temperature is making him hear things now.

_Next time?_

“Only if you want to, of course,” Shiro adds quickly, misreading Lance’s expression. “Please don’t feel you have to for my sake, though I would of course be-”

“No way-” whispers Lance, and Shiro’s face falls in dismay, before Lance shuffles forward, wraps Shiro in a far clumsier embrace than he intends. Slowly, Shiro raises his arms, then gently hugs him back.

“Does this mean I can carry you to medbay now?” says Shiro, halfway between wry and hopeful. “I’ll even keep you company, if you want. Medbay’s a riot on a Monday night.”

“I can’t even tell if you’re joking,” Lance laughs, but he nods, and Shiro does.

And Shiro stays.

-


	6. (Keith/Lance) or cuddle, or something?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 99% of the time Keith never wants anyone to know he’s sick. 1% of the time he just wants a hug.

Keith’s standing in Lance’s doorway, suited head to toe in his paladin armor, helmet under his arm and bayard in hand.

“Hey,” Keith says after a second, Lance is still blinking, half his hair squashed to his cheek.

“Hi?” Lance says blurrily, squints at his chest and realises his nightshirt is on the wrong way. When Keith only returns a regretful sort of grimace, Lance’s eyes suddenly widen.

“Oh quiznak, it’s another drill isn’t it,” says Lance, scoots out into the passage to make up for lost time. “Man, I’m sorry, I must’ve slept right-”

“No, no-” Keith says quickly, holds up both hands before Lance can sprint to his lion. “No drill. I. Uh. I was going to hit the training deck.”

Lance scuffs a fist to one eye, Keith slightly more in-focus now.

“-and. I. Was just going to ask if you wanted to come with,” Keith ventures, slouches against the wall and then straightens again.

Lance stares at him a moment, waiting, he can’t help a lopsided grin.

“At… four in the morning?” Lance teases, expecting some snappy comeback about it always being four in the morning when it comes to training vs. Lance’s beauty-sleep. In truth Lance doesn’t mind, and who knows which planet’s timezone his phone is set to anyway.

Keith breathes out a laugh, offers a half-shrug.

“Yeah,” Keith says awkwardly, then grazes his nose against his wrist, twitches closed an eye. “Right. Sorry, yeah. I wasn’t thinking. I’ll, uh-”

He shifts his helmet beneath his opposite arm, looks as if he’s going to say more. Lance is about to take a step forward when Keith abruptly raises his hand, ducks behind his wrist and sneezes, his armor not doing much to dampen the harshness of the sound. Lance’s eyebrows hitch in concern- it’s a toss up between _bless_ you or _yikes-_ that-sounds-like-it-hurt??- when Keith gives a small shake of head, cups his hand more firmly over the lower half of his face.

“- _sorry-_ ” Keith says, muffled, his voice caught and wavering as he inhales. Lance flinches in surprise as Keith snaps forward with another sneeze, his chest thrown toward his waist and hair flopped messily over his eyes. Keith sniffles, blinking and watery as he comes back up for air, he wipes his nose against the heel of his hand and clears his throat.

“Um, are you sure you wanna hit the training deck?” Lance says after a moment, laughs to try and make Keith feel less self-conscious. “Maybe you should hit up some tea and honey in the kitchen instead? Or take a swing at a nice relaxing Altean hot pool? Just saying, you sound kinda-”

“No I’m good-” Keith interrupts, his expression pulling uneven as he tries not to cough. Lance wants to pat him on the back, but Keith is blushing hard enough as it is, and he has a feeling that’ll just make it worse.

“-unless you want to get tea?-” Keith manages, his eyes tearing as he holds his breath. “-or feel like going swimming?”

Lance doesn’t have a chance to answer before Keith shakes his head in despair, turns away and coughs desperately into his arm. Lance winces in sympathy, then reaches a hand to Keith’s shoulder to steady him. Even through the paladin suit, Lance can feel Keith shivering.

“So, laps in the pool?” Keith says weakly. His voice sounds low and husky, far more congested for the outburst.

Lance gently tugs Keith round to face him, then touches the back of his fingers to Keith’s brow. For a half-second Keith looks almost bewildered, as if he doesn’t know what to make of the gesture, or that Lance might suddenly pull away.

“Keith,” says Lance, softly because he’s nervous too. “Can I make another suggestion? And like, if it’s a really stupid one, we can both just pretend I never said it?”

Keith sniffles wetly again, then nods, just once.

“Do you maybe want to come-in instead? And I can lend you a t-shirt, or just, uh- something that isn’t full-body armor- and we can maybe just take it easy? Or take a nap? Or cuddle, or something?”

Lance holds out his arms, hoping that last part will at least make Keith smile. As much as Lance could use a Keith-hug, he knows Keith well enough to know that when he’s sick, the very, _very_ last thing he ever wants is to do is-

“Can I?” Keith asks croakily, and Lance must look as astonished as he feels, because Keith gives a small, stiff sort of shrug, raises his arms ever so slightly as Lance stares.

“C’mere,” Lance mumbles, his smile squashed into Keith’s shoulder as Keith lets his face droop against Lance’s neck. And then, though Keith knows _Lance_ well enough that he doesn’t need to say it either, Lance wraps his arms tighter, closes his eyes and rests his cheek to Keith’s.

“I’ve got you,” he says quietly.

-


	7. (Keith/Lance) in case you feel a bit cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is really sick and thinks he’s gross, Keith is caring with him and thinks he’s adorable anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this series will mostly be canon-verse, but this one was requested as a college AU <3

“Uh oh,” says Keith, and he climbs up on Lance’s mattress, Lance is sitting cross-legged between several piles of study notes. “I’m not sure what happened here.”

He holds out Lance’s mug and they both peer over, Lance squinting at what may have once been a marshmallow.

“Um. Don’t… you just add water and stir?” Lance says after a moment, his voice coarse and stuffy, his n and m’s all stuck together. Lance takes the hot chocolate anyway, tries not to grin at Keith’s wince, then takes a tentative gulp.

“Yeah? Maybe? That’s what I did, though,” says Keith, and he crumples his nose, splutters a laugh as Lance attempts a brave face.

“Agh,” says Lance, and he cracks up enough that the drink nearly spills, wipes his eye with his sleeve. “You literally just-”

“-sorry,” Keith says guiltily, ducks his face behind his knees as he tries not to laugh again. “But seriously, _why are you still drinking it?”_

Lance realises the same thing a half-second later, has to swallow yet another mouthful before he can try and wrestle Keith from the bed with one arm.

“Maybe because you made it for me,” Lance yelps, his papers scattering to the floor as Keith is far too quick. “Or ‘cause I can’t actually taste anything right now-” he adds, laughs as Keith narrowly misses the ticklish spot at his side.

Keith lets him go, his smile falling as Lance pulls his jacket over his face to cough. Lance’s eyes water apologetically as he does, his coughing sounds about as awful as he feels, goes on far longer than he can help.

“Here, here” says Keith, and he takes the mug and sets it on the windowsill, carefully wraps an arm over Lance’s back.

“-you okay?” Keith murmurs, and Lance feels Keith’s thumb skip between his shoulder blades, as if he isn’t sure whether to rub Lance’s back.

“Still breathing. Occasionally-” Lance manages, throws Keith a blurry smile. Lance can feel Keith reach for something with his other hand, he’s trying to stretch for it without letting Lance go. When Lance looks up, he sees Keith holding the spare blanket.

“In case you feel… a bit cold?” Keith ventures, which Lance gathers is Keith for, _in case you feel like the undead and sound even worse._

“Thank youu,” Lance says croakily, gives Keith’s ankle an affectionate nudge with his sock. “Sorry for being so gross. Don’t think I don’t know it’s-”

Lance pokes his tongue and rolls-back his eyes, doing a fairly decent ‘super-super-gross’ impression despite the effort making his head spin.

“No, you’re okay,” Keith says softly, and he deposits the blanket into Lance’s lap, stares at it, then makes a clumsy effort to unfold it over both of them.

Lance blinks, his chest feels less achy and heavy for the gesture alone. He wipes his nose with his wrist in an attempt to cover a smile.

“Do you want a tissue or something,” Keith mumbles, and Lance gives a husky laugh, he hadn’t really thought about it.

“Yeah? Maybe?” says Lance, then decides it’s probably a good idea, his eyes are tearing horribly as he tries to sniffle. Lance cups both hands over his face a second later, tries to hold-in a sneeze and fails.

“Okay maybe yes please?” Lance says hopefully, still half-hidden behind his hands as Keith scuffs through his pockets, Keith looks far more mournful than he should as he realises he doesn’t actually have any.

“-s’all good-” Lance blurts, his inhale hitching as he snatches up his jacket for the second time. He sneezes twice more, then groans and shakes his head, flops backwards on the mattress, arms sprawled to either side. “-I’m just never wearing this again.”

Keith’s head pops into his vision, and Lance can’t be bothered to hide it, he brims to an adoring smile back at him.

“Oh my god,” says Keith, and he breathes out a laugh, leans down and presses a brief kiss to Lance’s brow, Lance’s mouth falls ajar with surprise as Keith pulls back up.

“Is that a _good_ oh-my-god,” Lance ventures, his voice scratchy and his cheeks warm, he can still feel the spot where Keith kissed him. “Or like, a, _I-can’t-believe-I’m-getting-this-close-to-you_ oh my-”

He pauses, gives a shy grin as Keith carefully pushes the rest of the papers from the bed, then lays next to him. One of Keith’s eyes is squashed into the pillow, the other stares at Lance from beneath his hair.

“The second one?” Keith tries, and Lance jokingly pulls the front of his t-shirt to cover his face, gives him a thumbs-up and holds his breath so they can cuddle.

“No, no,” says Keith, and he gathers Lance in his arms, his smile scrunched-up and gaze all squinted. “I mean… I like being close to you. I still can’t believe I… get to be?”

Lance peeks up at him from under the t-shirt, Keith’s fiercely trying not to look at him.

“Are you calling me cute?” Lance mumbles, teasing as he feels a weird, swoopy sort of emotion prickle at his throat.

“Is that Lance for, _stop_?” Keith laughs, low and and nervous.

Lance swallows, finds Keith’s hand with his free one, then tucks Keith’s palm beneath his cheek. Keith gives a small smile, brushes his thumb where Lance’s hair is damp at his face.

Lance shakes his head, Keith’s touch cool and soothing as he closes his eyes.

“No,” Lance whispers gently, “it’s Lance for stay.”

-


	8. (Lance/Lotor) just glad I was there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor knows Lance will be alright. He’s also all too aware of times when the people close to him haven’t been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lotor and Acxa are housemates; Lotor is in a loving/supportive relationship with Lance <3
> 
> Other college!lancelot sickfics I have written are:
> 
> [1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12044658) \- Lotor is ill and Lance comes over and looks after him  
> [2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12827826) \- another one with sick!Lance and Lotor being caring  
> ...aand for Lance saving Lotor when he's badly injured/has hypothermia in canon-verse, that would be [this one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12302067) ^^;;

“It isn’t, I’m not… no, no, this way-” Lance manages, then wrenches upright, his throat dry and his fingers shaky. In the same moment Lance realises he’s awake, he also realises he’s soaked in sweat, tangled in the blankets he’s pulled from Lotor’s side. Lotor’s a light sleeper, but he also stays up for nights on end, the fact he hasn’t woken means he’s beyond exhausted.

Lance takes some slow breaths, then presses the inside of his wrist to his cheek. He doesn’t feel that hot, but maybe the rest of him is hot too, he’s dizzy enough that it’s hard to tell. Lance pinches his nose, swallows a few times to try and clear the pressure behind his ears. When this only makes him more sniffly, Lance quietly gets to his feet.

“-mhm-” Lotor mumbles, and despite almost everything aching or pounding, Lance can’t help a smile. Lotor raises an arm, clumsy, then drops it heavily toward Lance’s side, drags Lance’s pillow against his chest. He shivers, mouth slightly parted, the loose hair from his braid has swept messily over his face.

“- _Lance_ -” Lotor mumbles again, the corner of Lance’s mouth hitches in surprise. He’s never heard Lotor talk in his sleep, his voice deep and blurry as he does, strangely vulnerable. Lance is a half-second from reaching for him when he needs to cough, far more urgently than he’s prepared for. He makes it out of the bedroom before he does, his face buried in his sweatshirt. He figures if he grabs a glass of water or a tea or something, he can crash on the couch until he feels better in the morning.

Which… sounds simple enough, if walking around wasn’t making the apartment seem vague and swoopy, Lance’s whole body is trembling by the time he makes it to the kitchen. He opens cabinet after cabinet in the hope of finding something useful, then hears a crash behind him, spins around as he startles.

Behind him, Lance finds Acxa standing poised and alert, fully dressed and eyes narrowed.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s just me,” Lance blurts. His voice sounds coarse and husky, his ears blushing with warmth as he apologises. Acxa gives the room a brisk glance, then assesses Lance more fully, Lance can still feel his heart racing in his windpipe.

“Are you okay?” Acxa mutters, but before Lance can answer, Lotor appears in the doorway, he looks wildly dishevelled.

“Lance, are you alright? I heard something,” says Lotor, and he scans the kitchen with the same intensity Acxa did, then strides forward as if Lance might somehow be hurt.

“I’m okay-” says Lance, and he covers his face with both hands, doesn’t know whether to laugh or sink into the floor with embarrassment. He can hear Acxa’s _no, no, that was just me kicking down the door_ , but her voice sounds faraway, Lance is suddenly lightheaded. He feels himself crumple forward as Lotor’s arms close swiftly around him, Lotor dips his knees and gathers Lance against his chest.

“Lance-” says Lotor, and there’s a harshness to it that takes Lance by surprise. Lotor’s grip is firm, his mouth pulled uneven as he can’t find the words. Lance feels weak and heavy, he leans into Lotor’s palm as Lotor touches his fingers to Lance’s cheek.

“Your hands are cold,” Lance mumbles, and he gives a half-smile, he can still feel the trace of Lotor’s fingertips, the rise of his chest at his ear. There’s nothing gentle about it- in fact, Lotor seems to be breathing rather hard- his eyebrows pinch and his gaze is fierce and bright.

“Lance, I’m going to have a medic visit,” says Lotor. His voice is tight and clipped, lowered in an attempt to sound softer. Acxa’s already found a thermometer in the same cupboard Lance was looking in, but she stops and pulls out her phone when she hears him, tucks it beneath her ear as she dials.

“I think it’s just a fever,” Lance says honestly, and he lifts his hand to Lotor’s, brushes a thumb over his knuckle in a bid to reassure him. Lotor sips a breath, he lowers his brow to rest at Lance’s forehead.

“Of course,” he whispers. Lotor closes his eyes, only for a second, when he opens them his pupils are strangely dark.

“But please,” he says softly, his eyes crease at the corners as he tries to smile. “Humour me.”

-

Later, when Lance feels far less shaky, he catches Lotor staring at him from his pillow, his mouth a hard line.

“Hey,” Lance says quietly, and he tucks his arm over Lotor’s, presses a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “You okay?”

Lotor blinks, Lance can feel the warmth of his exhale on the back of his hand.

“Yes,” Lotor mutters, and his voice is low, he tries to clear his throat without Lance noticing. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m simply…”

Lotor gives a small flinch of his head, Lance rearranges so that Lotor’s ear is resting at his chest.

“I’m just glad I was there,” says Lotor, and he makes a small, reluctant sound, he either sounds remorseful, or somehow irritated with himself.

Lance tugs a hand over Lotor’s hair, gently splays his fingers through the strands. He only means it to be comforting- Lotor’s ever soothed by these touches, the smallest of Lance’s affections seem to move him in a way words can’t.

On this occasion, Lotor stiffens, he turns his face into Lance’s shirt. Lance feels him twitch, then shake his head. Lance wraps both arms around him, understands that he can’t say what it is, not now, or not yet.

“I’m here for you too,” Lance murmurs. “I’m here for you too.”

-


	9. (Acxa & Lotor) this wasn’t the plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Acxa and Lotor cross paths for the first time- loosely based on the idea that while Acxa didn’t necessarily wish for Lotor to get away when she stunned him, a part of her might’ve felt she owed him the smallest chance.
> 
> Written for Lotor's Generals Week Day 6 - rebellion/Galra Empire

This wasn’t the plan.

Acxa keeps her head down as they move forward, the static from her energy cuffs scarring her wrists. They’re an older model, and her own fault for running too soon. She should have waited- waited for dark, or waited for cover. But there’d been a chance and she’d taken it, breaking and diving toward the row of fighter crafts with everything she had.

The chance hadn’t paid off, now the second would be twice as hard.

_And that,_ she thinks, bitterly close to despair, _is the sum of our rebellion._

A chance now spent.

“Single file!” calls a voice, and the rest of the prisoners form to order. They’d be held in the caves, there aren’t enough cells on the transporters to account for such a large revolt.

“There’s a passage,” Acxa whispers, the soldier in front of her is dragging close enough to hear. “Beyond the mouth of the cave. It leads to one of the underground stations.”

The soldier turns, and Acxa’s breath strangles in her throat. Despite the blood and bruises, Acxa recognises her. They’ve even laughed together- something of a feat, since Acxa barely recalls ever laughing at all. Now, her companion’s face is set with mistrust, a deep scar where her eye once twitched at the corner.

_I’ve failed them,_ Acxa thinks, her determination sinks to silence. _I started this, and now I’ve failed them all._

They walk on, the light from the sky grows dim. A part of her wants to call out- _re-form the lines, use the passage to our advantage!_ \- but it’s a delirious sort of hope, Acxa knows better than to trust it.

“I’ll offer myself,” she hisses, ashamed that even now, she cannot predict if this will be enough. “They won’t discard hundreds of workers- they just want to know how we managed it.”

The soldier in front of her hesitates, Acxa can near-feel the pause in her step. Acxa takes a hoarse breath, ready to signal the commanders.

“ _No_ ,” the soldier mutters, she turns to face Acxa for the last time.

And then, before the movement even registers, Acxa feels two hands collide with her shoulders, the soldier thrusts her down one of the passages before Acxa has a chance to shout. It’s steep- far steeper than Acxa remembers- and Acxa can’t break her fall with the wrist-cuffs. She tumbles headlong, limbs scraping over every rock and crevice, her ankle jarred and a blaze of pain through her ear. When she hits the ground she lands hard, eyes stinging and the taste of blood on her tongue. But there, ahead of her-

_Transport ships._

Acxa shuffles to her knees, uses both elbows to inch herself forward.

_Find one with weapons,_ Acxa orders herself, staying calm is the only thing that’ll keep her conscious. She crawls, keeping to the shadows, the lack of sentries in the chamber as worrying as it is useful. If there’s one thing Acxa’s learnt to rely on her captors for, above cruelty and above coldness, it’s routine.

_Where are the guards?_ Acxa asks herself, again and again. The throbbing in her leg has moved up to her stomach, and she grits her teeth to keep down the bile. _It would take a high-ranking official to order a blackout._

She stops, hands trembling as she pulls out her override card. It had taken a year of effort to obtain it, and had her rebellion moved just a little bit further, Acxa would be using it to unlock a far more formidable craft than the one she’s now entering. _This_ ship- a stealth fighter by the looks of it- might do well for maneuverability, but it’s weapons won’t hold against the fortifications, nor the flagships likely already on the way.

It’s the best she has.

Acxa limps into the central hanger, vision blurring at the edges. She’s committed the false protocols to memory, it won’t take more than a dobash to-

“How,” says a voice, crisp and resonant and utterly, heartbreakingly close. “Are you aboard my ship?”

Acxa sinks to the ground, the air leaving her lungs. She can see his shadow as he moves toward her, his boots are sharp and his stride strangely quiet. He’ll find the override if he searches her, after that it’ll only be a matter of time. And then he’ll know who helped her.

Every single one of them.

Acxa gives a vicious smile, vague and shivering, now beyond all despair. If she can anger him, perhaps he’ll get careless. Perhaps he’ll make it too quick.

“You’d better keep them on,” she whispers fiercely, nods to her wrists as he curls both hands around her cuffs. “I can still cause a lot of trouble when I’m half-dead.”

“Oh?” he replies, and he keeps still next to her, almost at a kneel, his voice holds little of the malice she expected in return.

His fingers tense and he pulls, slowly, until the energy bonds stretch and shatter, fizzle into dark. Acxa’s never seen anything like it, and when she looks up, she’s shocked to realise he’s no older than her.

_And already a leader in the war?_

He doesn’t make her speak when Acxa can’t, and they sit like that, Acxa’s hardly sure he isn’t lost in his own thoughts.

“Yes,” he whispers eventually. “So can I.”

-


	10. (Lotor & team voltron) let me know you're okay, okay?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aboard the castleship, Lotor isn’t as okay as he seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 week to go and I am working on my secret santa gift nonstop!! c: but I really hoped to contribute something to Lotor Week too, and this came to me for day 1- abandoned

Lotor steadies himself on the wall, fingers bruised and trembling without his gloves. He has a vague sense of how long he’s been standing there, his hair damp from the refresher cubicle and undersuit tacky with dried sweat. He doesn’t have anything else, and though he’s survived far worse than yesterday’s clothes, there’s a scent of ash to the material that turns his stomach, dries the back of his mouth. He’s been ill twice already, gagging into the palm of his hand in the shower and thanking every star in the universe that they’d set his quarters as far as possible from everyone else on the ship.

There’s a break in the suit’s mid-seam, two scorch-marks at his wrists.

Lotor still can’t bring himself to take it off.

“Hello?” comes a voice, a tap outside his door. “Knock knock?”

When Lotor doesn’t answer there’s the sound of shuffling, he’s half-aware of something being set down in the passage. In truth, he’d rather accept whatever it is face-to-face, but the aftermath of the adrenaline is finally setting in, he can’t be sure his shaking isn’t visible.

The footsteps retreat, and Lotor makes it to the edge of his bed, fumbles with the drink pouch he brought to his room. He’s been granted access to non-critical areas of the ship, though standing in the dining quarters not a varga before, Lotor couldn’t bring himself to retrieve more than a single hydration pack. One of the paladins had seen him too, and though Lotor stalked from the room with feigned indifference, he’d still felt his skin flush uncomfortably as he walked away, wished bitterly that he’d gone without.

Now, Lotor steadies himself over his knees, sits forward in a bid not to pass out. The drink comes with a straw, but he’s too unsteady to pierce the film in the right place, he tears the side of the packaging with his teeth instead. He places his mouth over the corner of the pouch and squeezes miserably, his eyes watering for no other reason than he’s exhausted, the liquid is unbearably salty and his chest feels painfully tight. He presses his palm below his ribs, gives an involuntary twitch as he swallows.

“Hey, Lotor, it’s Lance,” Lance tries again, and Lotor snaps his head toward the door, vision spotting at the corners. The aftermath of the stun-blast is dulling his senses, Lotor’s more than a little agitated that he didn’t hear a second approach. He swallows again and regrets it immediately, coughs harshly before he can hold his breath.

“Hey,” Lance says again, quieter. “Hey, sorry, I know you probably need some serious downtime, but I just…”

Lance hesitates, and Lotor grits his teeth, steeling some semblance of focus. Sweat prickles above his upper lip- more pleasant side effects- and Lotor viciously pinches his thumb and index finger to mend it, his left shoulder aching with the sudden gesture.

He can taste blood. He can hear fire.

“Are you all good?” Lance finishes, and Lotor sets down the drink, it seems he’ll have to make an appearance to set the paladin on his way. He focuses on his core body temperature- too hot, in response to stress and exposure, but he can slow his circulation with some effort, give his skin a cooler palette instead of appearing flushed and ill.

“Totally, absolutely cool if you want to chill,” Lance continues, “but just lemmie know you’re okay, okay?”

Lotor stands, feels vaguely calmer as he realises his hands are no longer shaking. There’s a distant throbbing behind one of his ears as he makes his way over to the door.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Lotor says airily, summoning what’s left of his dignity as presses his palm to the release panel. He looks down, sees Lance has retrieved whatever he left at Lotor’s door earlier, which now, on inspection, appears to be a small satchel.

“Oh,” says Lance, and something in his expression reads as unsure. Perhaps he wasn’t expecting Lotor to respond after all. “Cool. Well, I brought you some supplies, just in case you didn’t know where to find stuff.” Lance holds out the satchel, awkwardly presses the item into Lotor’s hands. His gaze lingers at the scalds at Lotor’s wrists, and Lotor lowers his arms back to his side, meticulously refusing to acknowledge it.

It’s unlikely the paladin has ever been held in energy cuffs. To him, the marks could be anything.

“And, also, uh-” Lance attempts what Lotor thinks is a smile, but his eyebrows are pinching worriedly in the middle. “I just wanted to offer some company, if you felt like it. Sometimes sitting with someone makes me feel better, even if I don’t know I need to feel better, even if we don’t say anyth-”

“That won’t be necessary,” Lotor says abruptly, he doesn’t show any teeth as he offers a stiff smile. “Thank you again.”

There’s a silence, and when Lance looks unconvinced, Lotor feels increasingly rattled for having left some trace of doubt. But then, Lance nods, the crease between his eyebrows softens.

“I’ll let you get some rest then,” he says, and Lotor dips his head, doesn’t break eye contact as Lance takes a tentative step away.

Lotor closes the door, slides his back down the inside panel as a fresh surge of nausea makes his legs tremor. The satchel sits heavily in his lap and he opens it, grateful for the distraction. There are three more hydration packs inside, an additional two of liquid sustenance, and what first appears to be a uniform, though on closer inspection, Lotor realises it’s intended for sleepwear. There are a few smaller items wedged in the corner, and when Lotor retrieves these too, he realises they’re confectionary, cheap and unregistered, the kind stocked by most of the outer trading-planets. Lotor regards the collection of items scornfully, it looks like the sort of kit one’s parents would give to an Altean child for recreation camp.

And then, he crushes his fist over his mouth, leans forward into his knees as his eyes squeeze shut. He muffles a sound- deep and sinking and hollow, a thread of spit trembles on his hand as he begs himself to be quiet.

The passage outside is quiet too, Lotor isn’t sure if the paladin is still standing there.

For a single, reckless second, he almost tries to ask.

He doesn’t. He lowers himself to the floor, the surface hard and cold at his ear.

He stays like that a long time.

-


	11. (Haxus/Sendak) I think I can handle it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sendak is injured in battle, Hax is there for him. (Haxus/Sendak)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for the sendaxus mini event day 1 - back to back <3

Sendak glares up at the fightercraft ceiling, his chest searing from more lacerations than he cares to remember, his left shoulder secured in a tight brace. It’ll be two more vargas till their ship docks with the main fleet, where there’s a proper medwing instead of two makeshift cots in the weapons bay.

“Hax,” Sendak growls. He can’t move much- not without dislocating another rib at least- but he lifts the arm that isn’t bandaged, stretches over his shoulder to where his mate is laying behind him. He splays his fingers, knuckles bumping against Hax’s collarbone. Haxus gives an irritated click- seeing Sendak nearly perish does tend to put him in a sour mood- but he relents to a softer hiss as Sendak scratches his shoulder with a claw.

“I don’t want to mess you up,” Haxus mutters, when Sendak nudges for his hand. While Haxus missed the worst of the explosion, he’d been hit with a shot of what appeared to be oil instead, the liquid seeping through his armor and causing him to scream in agony. They’d drenched him in a heavy field-antitoxin, but Hax’s short fur, for the most part, was still rough and sticky with black goo.

“I think I can handle it,” Sendak says gruffly. Haxus sips a breath and holds it, and Sendak has the sinking feeling that the antitoxin may not have eased the venom’s sting quite as thoroughly as Hax made out.

“It’ll be a different story when I’m pulling knots out of your fur,” Haxus snaps, cuffing his fingers into Sendak’s all the same. His shoulders slacken as he exhales.

“Mmh,” Sendak shrugs, agreeing. Haxus twitches his fingers, something close to a squeeze, and Sendak turns his head so he can breathe-in his mate’s scent.

“I thought we might be spending this journey in an argument,” Haxus admits after a moment, slightly clipped. His grip tightens a little, bristling for one just in case, and Sendak huffs out a laugh.

“Oh, we’ll be having an argument,” he manages. “You ignored a direct command to retreat. I’m just-”

He swallows as a throb of pain spikes up from his shoulder, glad at least that Haxus can’t see him wince.

“-saving the best for last,” Sendak says thickly, trying to joke. The ache across his chest has sharpened too, whatever adrenaline got him back to the ship must slowly be wearing off.

“I didn’t hear the order. The blast knocked out my communication device,” Haxus says curtly, harsher every time his voice falters. “What a terrible shame I was still around to save you.”

“Looked fine when I wrenched you out of your suit,” Sendak grunts, shivers as a cold bead of sweat traces his jaw.

“Your injuries must have clouded your perception,” Haxus returns. “You’ll find the equipment log report clearly details the damage.”

Sendak’s glad Hax can’t see his attempt not to smile either.

“Here,” Haxus whispers, and Sendak feels another emergency blanket being brusquely tucked over him. Sendak’s usually well-able to regulate his temperature, but the weapons bay isn’t nearly as insulated as the ship’s bridge. He’d been trying to hide his trembling for Hax’s sake, and perhaps Hax held off noticing as long as he did for his.

“Much warmer,” Sendak murmurs. His hand feels shaky in the smaller galra’s too, but Hax firms his grasp to make up for it.

“Here…” Haxus says again, and he shuffles over on his cot, crawls himself forward on his elbows and lays his head on Sendak’s good shoulder. The lack of space makes for an awkward position for Hax, but Sendak knows better than to point it out. When he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine they’re simply curled in bed together, the prickling in his arm no more than Haxus having fallen asleep on it.

“Is it bad?” Sendak mutters under his breath. They’ll know for sure soon, but Haxus, at least, had been conscious enough to hold him down for the brace.

“No,” Haxus hisses, his snarl a little too quick. His features harden to a grimace, and Sendak would rather receive the wound several times over than see such an expression from his mate again. He lifts his injured hand, strokes his thumb over Haxus’s brow and ears. Sendak can’t feel much in his fingertips, but Hax’s ear flicks gently forward, in the way that it does when he’s comforted. Sendak repeats the familiar gesture, Hax turns and presses his face into his palm, Sendak’s fingers splaying beneath Hax’s cheek without having to think about it.

He likes that his muscles remember this, better even than holding a blaster or a sword.

“I’m so angry you came back,” Sendak whispers after a time. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

Hax holds him until the tic before their ship rejoins the fleet, makes a near indiscernible gesture with one hand as the medics arrive. It’s the one they use on quiet stakeouts, or in briefings, or apparently, when they’re both too half-dead to speak.

_I love you too._

_-_


	12. (Shiro & team voltron) returning to base

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Shiro overworks to the point of collapse, the rest of the team are there for him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a gift for @thedarkflygon as part of whumpexchange2018 c:

Three night-cycles had passed since the battle, and Shiro wasn’t giving up.

“Shiro,” comes Keith’s voice through his helmet, the comm low and crackly as Shiro navigates the debris. “We have to call this off, Coran keeps picking up a weird energy signature. We need to regroup.”

“Just a second, Keith,” Shiro returns, and he fires up his jetpack to speed him closer to the last of the ruined Galra vessels. His body is shaking from exhaustion as he activates the scanning device, but he needs to be sure. The device trembles in his fingers as he scans for life signs, a bluish hue emanating from the screen.

The reading is neutral. The warring Galra crafts hadn’t been carrying any hostages or prisoners.

“Shiro, I’m going to come down and get you, alright?” says Allura, and though her tone is soft, Shiro recognises the genuine worry there too. He takes a breath to steady himself before replying. It had been his decision to keep searching without reprieve, the last thing he wants is to endanger another member of the team as a result.

“I’m good, Allura, we’re all clear. Checking the logs for intel now,” Shiro says calmly, then quickly switches off the comm as a sharp pain echoes through his side. He hadn’t noticed it earlier, but he must’ve been running on adrenaline for longer than he realised. He grits his jaw as the throbbing fades, steels his focus elsewhere to recalibrate.

_Just one more task. Take it easy, get it right,_ Shiro tells himself, then gently exhales upward, trying to shift the damp lock of hair across his brow. Shiro knows he’s at the edge of his limits, but he’s been there before, and he can go further still. Finishing without delay means getting the team away from the battlesite sooner, and on that he’s not prepared to compromise.

“No need to worry about the logs, Shiro,” Coran chimes in. “This energy signature isn’t anything Allura and I are familiar with, and we’d rather have you back safe and sound.”

“Understood,” says Shiro, then fumbles with the hatch closest to the flagship’s bridge. He only needs to touch the console with his Galra arm to start the download, and if he doesn’t get this, it’ll mean putting someone else at risk later. It has to be him, and it has to be now.

The ship feels eerily quiet as Shiro floats through the helm, the enemy crew evacuated and the gravity equaliser long disabled. He coughs, then tries as best he can to hold his breath, the exertion doing nothing for the ache in his side. The dark somehow makes him feel freezing, though from the icy numbness at the tip of his nose and ears, he suspects he’s been cold for awhile.

The bright purple glow of his hand fades as his palm slips from the dash.

“Almost done… returning to base, over,” Shiro says thickly. Did he always feel like this after engaging with Galra technology? Spent, hollowed-out, powerful. He suppresses another cough, then turns down the empty passageway toward the exit hatch.

It looks a lot longer than the one he remembers coming in.

“Shiro, where are you?” says Keith, the words curt with worry. There’s a mumble and a rough clattering noise in the background- it sounds like Keith’s swiftly getting back into his suit- but the noise keeps ebbing in and out of range. Shiro blinks, then narrows his eyes as he tries to hold on.

“It’s okay guys, I’m almost with him,” says Hunk, and Shiro glances up in confusion. The last Shiro recalls, Hunk was analysing the Galra’s tracking beacons on one of the evacuated fighters. Hadn’t he told Hunk to get some rest? The last few hours feel heavy and blurry as Hunk clears the interior of the craft, places a reassuring hand on Shiro’s arm.

“Man, this place looks like a B-grade horror movie,” Hunk says gently, the lights of the passageway flickering on his statement. “No wonder you’re getting lost.”

Shiro gives a weak nod, the warmth of Hunk’s voice bringing him back to the present. It isn’t until the lights sputter again that he realises he's travelled right past the exit, the cargo-sized hatch still surprisingly difficult to miss.

“So decoding the tracker encryption was a no-go,” Hunk offers, keeping up a stream of encouraging chatter as he steers Shiro away from the hull of the craft. “But on the plus side, who would’ve thought Zarkon’s warships had a crate full of popsicle molds in the holding bay? I mean, how many flavours of icy-pole were they equipped for? These are the real questions.”

In spite of his fatigue, Shiro can’t help crooking a smile as Hunk guides them back toward the castle, more thankful for Hunk’s efforts to keep up his spirits than he can say. The castle’s main docking port is already open as Hunk slows their trajectory, Lance and Pidge waiting with grins and outstretched arms to help them on-board.

“Sorry-” Shiro husks a moment later, when his attempt to catch Lance’s hand ends in him nearly knocking them both to the ground.

“Hey, you’re all good, I’ve got you,” says Lance, his grip on Shiro’s elbow surprisingly solid in spite of the rising pitch in his tone. Without the weightlessness of space, Shiro feels intensely drained, the cool, dry air of the castle sending him into a visible bout of shivering.

“Shiro, I’m going to grab you one of those hydration pouches, okay? You’ve been out there a while,” says Pidge, but Shiro manages to stand up straighter at the suggestion, the concerned faces of his teammates abruptly pulling him to focus. The sting below his ribcage is worsening, and he’d rather inspect any potential injuries in his own quarters than put them at greater unease.

“I’m fine, Pidge. Thank you,” Shiro says evenly, the tightness in his chest easing as he sees them relax a fraction. “I’ll sync this data on the bridge and then take a break. You’re right, it’s been a long few days.”

“I’m on it,” Hunk offers, and he unclips the scanning device from Shiro’s suit before Shiro can assign himself any further tasks. “You just work on that taking a break part.”

Shiro hesitates, instinctively wanting to see the job through, but Lance and Pidge swiftly have him by the arms. It’s just as well, the further Shiro tries to walk the less steady he feels, and eventually he’s not even sure they’re heading for his quarters after all. The last thing he remembers is wondering how they arrived back at the Garrison, what Coran and Allura possibly think of Earth, and why Keith is sitting on the bunk opposite him, his eyes full and dark and determined, telling him he’ll be right there by his side.

-

Shiro’s shoulders feel cool when he wakes, a brief glance at his torso taking him by surprise. The white and black shell of his armor is nowhere to be seen, the dark synthskin of his undersuit cut free of his upper body from the waist. Around his middle is a firm bandage, a dressing on his right side below a slightly thicker wrap of gauze. There’s a small towel soaked in healing solution on the bench by his mattress, and next to it several splinters of metal.

“You must’ve caught some of the shrapnel in the blast,” Keith murmurs, and he moves his fingers to his own side, indicating the flexible, more vulnerable area of the paladin suit where Shiro was hit. “You’ve been working wounded for days.”

Shiro’s mouth hardens to an apology as he catches Keith’s expression, his eyes lowered and brows knotted below his bangs. Keith looks less shadowed as he meets Shiro’s gaze, takes a step forward from the wall so Shiro can better see him. Allura is standing by his bedside too, her hands folded and her eyes knowing and sad. Coran is close-by monitoring some sort of hologram, and Shiro realises he must be in the castle medical bay, his heartbeat quickening with relief at the fact they haven’t taken him to the healing pods.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise,” Shiro says hoarsely, inwardly cursing himself for not paying better heed to his own advice. He should have returned to the castle and checked-in with his vitals. How often had he told them that looking after the team means looking after yourself too?

“Now don’t be too hard on yourself, number one,” Coran interjects. “You’ve pushed yourself a bit far, but the good news is it’s nothing serious. Nothing my traditional paladin remedies won’t fix!”

He throws Shiro a bright grin, a reflexive grimace jumping onto Shiro’s features before he realises Coran’s only joking. The comment does the trick though, and Shiro’s heart feels slightly less leaden as the older Altean squeezes his shoulder.

“You have a mild fever too,” says Allura, her voice kind as she sits on the bed beside Keith. “It was… less mild, perhaps, earlier, when you were attempting to provide us with a theory on how to leave the barracks without someone called Iverson seeing.”

Her mouth twitches to a smile, Keith’s frown merging with an odd creasing of his eyes.

“I… that is. Embarrassing,” Shiro manages, but somehow he’s breathing out a laugh too. “Was it at least good advice?”

“Lets just say I could give you some tips,” Keith says flatly, and Shiro laughs again, then winces and groans, his smile turning to chagrin as he realises he really should keep still.

“Thanks for helping me patch-up,” Shiro murmurs. Allura scuffs her palm over Shiro’s knuckles, and Keith stiffly pulls out an oversized jumper he’s fetched from his quarters, helps Shiro into it when Shiro struggles to raise his arms.

“I am sorry,” Shiro says after a moment, keeping his voice low so he doesn’t shiver through every word. In hindsight he knows he made the wrong call, and as much as he wants to lighten the mood, he also wants to be able to discuss it if they need to.

Coran fetches another blanket, and Allura and Keith both gently sit back down after they’ve wrapped it around Shiro.

“We can only give our all,” Allura says quietly, and Keith lets out a slow breath, sharing this too.

It’s comforting, having them there, and when Coran eventually asks whether Iverson is counted among Earth’s great kings, Allura is the first to hide a smile, Keith doing a much worse job, and Shiro raising a wry eyebrow as he shakes his head.

He knows he always will.

“Knock knock,” comes Hunk’s voice outside the door, and Shiro swallows on an unexpected pang in his throat. There’s a part of him that still feels fiercely protective, that the rest of the team shouldn’t have to see him like this. Another part wants to make sure they’re alright, that he’d wake and crawl his way back from anything if only to know they’re safe. There’s a small part- the one Shiro often doesn’t listen to- that just wants his friends by his side.

He struggles to sit a little more upright as Pidge, Lance and Hunk tentatively enter the room.

“So, um, we thought you could use a win to take your mind off things,” Hunk starts, palms pressed together in anticipation. “So Pidge and I started running those tracking codes against Coran’s weird energy signature from the battlesite… and the whole thing lit up! Galra radar looks different depending on our exact location in space!”

“It was my idea to do that!” Lance blurts in. “Well, I was talking about weird signatures at least. Which came up as I was showing Hunk my signature recipe, I used to make spicy I-don’t-know-how-to-take-a-break soup for Pidge all the time!” Lance raises a teasing eyebrow, then makes an encouraging gesture toward the thermos in his other hand.

“The I-don’t-know-how-to-take-a-break soup tastes better than it sounds,” Pidge winks, taking the canteen off Lance before his enthusiasm transforms it into some kind of dangerous weapon. The scent from the thermos reminds Shiro of winter and bonfires, and makes the castle feel oddly closer to home.

“It sounds great,” Shiro murmurs, sincere. “Do you need me to look at any of these new codes in the meantime?”

A serving spoon nearly drops from Hunk’s hands as he gapes, Keith’s glare so fiery it could melt through the wall.

“Okay, that was a joke,” Shiro says guiltily. “No more working today, message received loud and clear.”

“We missed you, Shiro,” Lance says softly, very nearly plopping down on the bed before remembering Shiro’s injury. He makes a dramatic show of looking relieved, then sits cross-legged on the floor instead, gives Shiro a quieter smile between his attempts to cheer him up. “Just let us know if you need anything. Or if you need us to clear-out so you can rest, okay?”

Shiro smiles in return. In his heart, he knows Lance- he knows all of them, in fact, have things under control. They’ve got this. And if only for a moment, the galaxy very nearly feels saved.

“It’s alright,” Shiro whispers. “Stay a little longer.”

-


	13. (James/Keith) yeah, we’re getting you back to medbay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The MFE pilot’s face falls in incredulous disappointment, a surprisingly accurate impression of his expression for most of their cadetship, and entirely for Keith’s benefit.
> 
> Keith appreciates it more than he can say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there were a few characters I really missed this season, but I’m so glad we got AJ back for MFE pilot James <3
> 
> fic notes: this chapter contains a mild mention of throwing up, but no actual throwing up

Keith closes his hand around the flight simulator control, his palms coarser and his nails less bitten than feels right for the place. There’s a spatter of residue over the seat- the legacy of recent attacks rather than disuse- and Keith can’t help scuffing a finger through it, the same grey and orange crest etched beneath.

“Just like old times, huh,” comes a voice, more hesitant than antagonistic, and Keith’s surprised by the flood of instinct it raises, he’s as close to clenching his fist as he is to snagging an arm around his shoulders, pulling taut and never letting go.

James Griffin looks just about ready for either, his hands slouched in his pockets and his head respectfully lowered, the set of his jaw deeper than Keith remembers. He’s still wearing his flightsuit from the battle, bangs skewed where his fingers have hastily raked through.

“If it were old times, you’d probably be on the floor,” Keith mutters, more blunt than he intends, they’ve fought side by side after all. But James only breathes out a laugh, roughs a hand over his mouth and sparks his gaze to meet Keith’s, a shared stupid memory that makes Keith painfully glad he’s still here.

“You cleared medical?” Keith asks, his elbow wedged uncomfortably into his side as he deflects another glance to the simulator. Half the high-score records bear the names of those who aren’t.

James stares a moment, a flicker of anger squashed as fast as it lights, then shrugs toward the coded band on his forearm that clearly indicates otherwise. From what Keith can recall of the Garrison medbay system, white, red and pale blue were markers for dehydration, exposure and oxygen depletion.

“Oh, and this one,” James adds dryly, holds up his opposite arm with bands for vertigo, blood loss and a mild concussion.

In spite of everything, Keith feels something unknot in his chest, and he raises his own medical band, a near exact-same damage tally with the addition of laser burns and a fractured wrist.

The MFE pilot’s face falls in incredulous disappointment, a surprisingly accurate impression of his expression for most of their cadetship, and entirely for Keith’s benefit.

Keith appreciates it more than he can say.

“Better luck next time?” Keith tries, because it’s all so catastrophically far from a joke. But James sees it for the truce Keith intends, his amusement fading to a graver expression as he leans against the pod frame for support.

“I wasn’t sure when I’d next catch you,” James says quietly, and he attempts a nod toward their ruined base, the black lion nestled calmly at the squadron bay. “I didn’t want it to be another five years before I could apologise.”

He shifts his weight, exhaustion suddenly dampening his eyes and his chin stiffening for not saying more. Keith furrows his brow, but James uncurls a hand from his side, shakes his head and swallows a cough, his glare narrowing as he tries to go on.

“Hey,” Keith says softly, which is as much as he can manage for, _I get it_. And he does- he gets the regret, and the mistake of it, the not knowing if you’ll ever come good.

“I don’t know what I was thinking back then,” James whispers. “Or what you must think of me now.”

Keith frowns, ignoring the building weight of his own injuries, and James, who looks waxier and more shadowed the longer he stands, makes an effort to draw himself upright, holds as still as he would to a senior officer.

“I’m so fucking sorry?” he says hoarsely, his teeth gritted as the admission seems to take the last of his composure. The line of his shoulders drops, then falters, he attempts a step backward before Keith can reach him.

“N-nh, I might- be ill,” James husks, tries to wrench himself clear of Keith’s grip as Keith saves him from stumbling to his knees. He’s soaked in sweat but Keith keeps him steady, drags the pilot’s arm around his neck regardless.

“Yeah, we’re getting you back to medbay,” Keith murmurs, not unkindly. It’s been a long time since he was sick after a battle, and Keith’s not sure he should say it gets easier. For sheer will or pride James manages not to, though he doesn’t pull away when he starts trembling, and Keith crouches beside him to stay until it stops.

“I think you were young,” Keith says eventually, he knows he didn't exactly go easy on the guy either. “Young, a lot to prove, terrible in a fight-”

“Hey-” James chuckles weakly, attempts a shaky gesture toward his MFE suit. “I’m not that bad in a fight.”

Keith slowly grins back, and James gives another blurry laugh, grateful as Keith offers his hand.

“Medbay,” Keith says again, gentler, and James pinches the damp below his nose as Keith eases him to his feet.

“You too,” the other says thickly, his incredulous expression returning as Keith has already opened his mouth to protest.

Keith nods instead, just once, James’s arm feels lighter around his shoulders as they walk in step.

-

 


	14. (Lotor & team voltron) the first rule of battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Hey… are you… doing okay there?” Hunk ventures, his friendly tone pitched with genuine concern. As unused as he is to seeing the Galran Prince around the castle, he’s far less used to seeing him in the kitchen, slumped miserably over the table, his gaze fixed on a cold cup of tea by his elbow._  
>  -  
> When Lotor falls ill, Hunk, Lance and Pidge keep him company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Instead of the canon events that unfolded, this is more of a soft/fluffy drabble where Lotor and the paladins slowly learn to trust each other and let their guard down, become friends and have space sleepovers :’>

“Hey… are you… doing okay there?” Hunk ventures, his friendly tone pitched with genuine concern. As unused as he is to seeing the Galran Prince around the castle, he’s far less used to seeing him in the kitchen, slumped miserably over the table, his gaze fixed on a cold cup of tea by his elbow.

“Huunk, lemmie through, this is heavy!” Lance whines behind him, and Hunk steps aside, Lance scooting toward the meal prep area to deposit a large box of Olkarion vegetables on the bench. He wheels back around just as quickly, not bothering to mask his suspicion at Lotor’s less than formidable appearance. In place of his usual poise, Lotor’s reaction to their intrusion seems somewhat delayed, his cheeks flushed and his eyes unfocused as he blinks up at Hunk.

“Ohh man…” Hunk says gently, and he takes a few steps forward before he can help it, his brow crumpling in sympathy as Lotor fails to conceal a shiver. “This space-flu thing finally got you too, huh? Looks like you could really use another tea.”

Hunk quirks a reassuring smile, and Lotor, possibly well aware he looked like he could use the whole pot, offers what could’ve almost been a dry half-smile in return. The expression fades as he seems to remember himself a moment later, his posture imperceptibly stiffening as he takes stock of Lance’s incredulous disbelief.

“Please excuse me,” Lotor says huskily, then raises his fist self-consciously toward his chest, vaguely unsettled by the change in his voice. “I should return to-”

Lotor eases himself to his feet and gives a curt nod in the direction of the castle bridge, before his frame tips unsteadily, one hand splaying into the table and the other reaching for Hunk’s suddenly outstretched arms.

“Oh, shoot!” Lance yelps, jolted into action as Hunk catches Lotor- a very heavy Lotor- against his front. Lance’s hands grip beneath Lotor’s arms not a second later, and they manage to aim him back into the chair before he collapses completely, his long legs bent clumsily and his hair spilling over his shoulders.

“So what, you actually _are_ sick?” Lance blurts, Hunk shooting him a pointed glance when it somehow sounds more like an accusation. Lotor twists away as he coughs unforgivingly, then concedes a vicious smile in Lance’s direction, his eyes watering enough that he looks more delirious than antagonising.

“It happens,” he says thickly, and Hunk shoots a desperate glance back to Lotor too, doubtful anyone else could make admitting a vulnerability sound as much like a challenge.

“Right, right, easy-” Hunk laughs nervously, Lance is crossing his arms tight enough to burst and Lotor looks ready to stand to his full height again, with his balance or without. In truth, the fact that Lotor’s rising to the bait at all is enough to worry Hunk, and as Lotor fails to suppress another string of coughing, Hunk can’t help wonder how long it’s been since he had a proper rest.

“There you go… here, slow breaths-” Hunk says soothingly, and he crouches down to help Lotor into a better position, Lotor shakily covering his mouth as Hunk motions for him to breathe into his lower abdomen instead.

“-nh- thank you… forgive me,” Lotor rasps weakly, dragging a familiar depth back into his voice. He sits a little more upright as his coughs subside, his expression less discernible as Hunk reaches to offer him the cup of cooled tea. “Given my state, perhaps I should keep somewhat of a distance. I do not think this… a danger to you, however-”

“Yeah, but is that like, a Lance ‘not a danger’?” Lance interjects, and Hunk notices Lotor wince at the abrupt rise in volume, his eyes shadowed and broad shoulders hunching into himself. “Or like, a Lotor ‘not a danger’, where the last time you said that we ended up in some kind of lava maze! Until Coran and the others get back, I vote we go with the _'however'_ -”

“Shh, c'mon Lance...” Hunk murmurs kindly, and he tries to catch Lance’s attention, makes a subtle _not-too-loud_ motion while Lotor attempts an uncomfortable sip of the tea. “He was considerate to you when you were ill.”

“He ignored me completely and went out of his way to avoid me!”

“Yes. Considerate,” Lotor says croakily, the statement punctuated with a sniffle that has Hunk frowning in sympathy and Lance visibly cringing for effect.

“Hey, you’re okay,” Hunk says gently, when Lotor grimaces defeatedly back at his cup. “But Lance is kind of right. Since Coran isn’t here to whip-up a cure, we should maybe keep you company for a while. You’re a bit woozy and… that cough doesn’t sound so great.”

“Okay, that is _the_ exact opposite of what I was-” Lance starts, his eyebrows disappearing toward his hairline as Lotor mumbles something under his breath.

Lance’s face slowly falls, his wariness replaced by dawning guilt as he meets Hunk’s gaze.

“Perhaps... just for a short time,” Lotor mutters, and Hunk feels a small, sad pinch in his throat, Lance falling silent as he stares toward his shoes. While Lotor manages to frame it as some kind of allowance on his part, there’s a rawness to the suggestion that doesn’t fade with the quiet, and from the harsh grit of Lotor’s jaw, he seems all too aware that he’s said too much.

“I- pardon me, I am not myself-” Lotor starts, before Hunk has a hand at his shoulder, the other pointing Lance in the direction of the beverage dispenser and mugs to make good on his promise of a fresh cup of tea.

“How about this,” says Hunk, Lotor’s red-rimmed gaze blurring as he looks away. The tip of Lotor’s ear ventures upward however, and Hunk notes with a pang that he’s keeping desperately still, leaning into his hand and the small gesture of assurance.

“First, we’ll grab that space-thermometer-thingy from Pidge’s room,” Hunk continues, and Lance makes an effort to decipher the Altean jars beside the tea, hopeful as he chooses something that looks like honey. “Just, you know, to keep an eye on your fever. First rule of battle, you gotta know what you’re dealing with, right? And _then_ , you get ready for a night of either movies, videogames, or Coran’s super informative and highly nap-inducing instructional tapes, you pick, they all come with ice-cream if you’re up for it.”

Hunk waits, unsure whether Lotor’s teary glare is a sign that he’s overstepped some bound, or perhaps that his temperature is worsening faster than he’d hoped. Lance pushes a hot drink within Lotor’s reach, Hunk offering a tentative smile as Lotor’s eyes only narrow further.

“The first rule of battle,” Lotor says eventually, his tone meticulous in spite of sounding rather stuffy. “-is in fact, to be aware of and prepared for any and every battle that _could_ ever eventuate.”

He watches Hunk carefully in the second that follows, Hunk slowly brimming to a wide grin while even Lance can’t help a twitch of a smile.

“Hey,” says Hunk, a knot of worry unravelling in his chest. “That was funny.”

Lotor shifts his gaze, the warm lavender at his ears perhaps the only sign that he’s vaguely relieved.

“Mh,” Lotor says quietly, but he looks at them both again, keeping the moment just a split-second more.

-

“Are you _serious_?” Lance exclaims, producing what Lotor can only interpret as an amused wail as he flops backward on Pidge’s pillows. “That was the decoy option! We have Battlestation 7 here- you weren’t actually supposed to choose Coran’s instructional briefings!”

“You would decline instructional briefings?” Lotor asks mildly, glancing to Hunk, who’s trying not to laugh, and Pidge, who looks somewhere between gleeful and victorious as they load a series entitled ‘So It’s Your First Time Realigning a Subterranean Generator’ into the projector.

“I’ve actually been waiting to see this one,” Pidge says brightly, depositing themself back on the mattress with an enthusiasm that Lotor finds oddly heartening. “I mean, I’d probably recommend ‘So You Find Yourself Stuck in a Voraxian Swarmnest’ as more of a starting point, but Lotor said he’s already kinda been somewhere like that, so…”

Lotor gives a sleepy dip of his head- he’s been somewhere like that twice, in fact- and Lance groans good-naturedly, Hunk grinning as he squeezes beside them with water, muesli bars and another blanket. Lotor hides a smile, then closes his eyes. His core body reading was more abysmal than he’d predicted- 17 notches higher than what he knows he should be. But even now, his headache is easing and his chest feels less heavy, though he decides he’s too exhausted to examine exactly why. Maybe he’ll offer to play the tactical simulation game after all. After the instructional tape. If they wish to.

“And besides,” Lance says cheerily. “It wouldn’t be a sick day without someone out-stealthing my battle strategies. Sick days are like the only time I let you guys win!”

“Uh, sick days are like the only time we play the game,” Pidge laughs, and Lance grins and aims a small air-popped biscuit at them in reply, nearly falling off the bed as Pidge bounces it back. “And _Battle_ station still runs on standard _combat strategy_. Sick or not, between you and the guy who’s apparently been wearing a full set of space armor for the last ten thousand years…”

Lotor raises a drowsy eyebrow, amused.

“Umm, guys?” Hunk whispers, pausing on Coran’s zestful introduction not a minute later. Lance looks up, absorbed in the content in spite of himself, and Pidge stops adding notes to their data-pad, their expression tugging in sympathy as they realise. Hunk reaches to retrieve the empty ice-cream bowl from Lotor’s lap, his large hands loose and open and his head drooped against Pidge’s shoulder.

“Poor guy,” Pidge murmurs. “I think he’s really been through the works. He feels less warm at least.”

Lotor makes a slight sound as he breathes, and Pidge gently lowers their arm to make him more comfortable. Lance gives over the blanket when Lotor sniffs and mumbles, then carefully rearranges into his favourite all-night-movie-marathon position, Hunk setting the water and snacks back on Pidge’s bedside, so they’ll still be there when Lotor wakes.

“Alright... here we go then,” Hunk says softly, and he lowers the volume as the others settle in, the lights gently flickering as they let the tape play.

-


	15. (Lotor/Allura) while we’re on the subject

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor accidentally shares an embarrassing story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a tiny fluffy lotura gift-thingy, I thought I might share it here too! <3
> 
> The prompt to me was ‘Lotor accidentally shares a really embarrassing story’. Hopefully it's still kind of cute and not (too) embarrassing lol! c': Set around the opening of season 6, shortly after we meet Lotor's nanny/governess Dayak

“So what was it like,” Allura asks him one night, her smile hitched between shy and mischievous, since she knows he’s somewhat sticky on the subject. “...having a Governess?”

She nestles her knees closer beneath her chin, her arms wrapped loosely over her ankles and her back pressed against the side of Lotor’s comet ship. Lotor’s gaze shifts- no more than a steep of his pupils toward her innocent expression- before his mouth slowly pulls at the corner too, the day’s exhaustion seeming to lift from his features as he tucks his tongue to the inside of his cheek.

“Well, I didn’t get away with much,” he admits, halfway between fond and prickly as he stretches out both legs from where they’re sitting, trying to look more comfortable. He’d been attempting to copy Allura’s pose a tic earlier, but in spite of his best efforts, his long limbs and heavier armor have proved an awkward combination. “I have a lot to thank her for, really.”

Allura nods sleepily, watching as he sucks his teeth over his lower lip, his face rarely looks so soft in recollection. He looks at her again and smiles, forgetting himself, his lip damp and uneven and his eyes slightly blurry from staring into the distance. And Allura falls in love with him a little then. Just a bit. Just in every way she can count.

“You know, I never thought I’d feel anything less than peeved about some of those punishments,” Lotor mutters, his eyebrows tipping incredulously as he shakes his head at himself. “On one occasion, simply for-”

He finishes in a rather rapid Galran expression- most of their jokes are better understood outside the paladin's dialect- but Allura, who’d been lulled by the comfortable depth of his voice, has to speedily recalibrate to make sense of what he’s saying.

“Wait- pardon- halt your zeewoks-” Allura joins in, firing the first Altean expression she can think of to get him back. “For a moment I thought you just told me, _Dayak caught you spitting on the ground to make a point._ ”

Lotor blinks, then quirks an untidy eyebrow from an evening spent crawling beneath the ship’s engines, his breath still held on the verge of blurting out more.

“…to make a _point_ ,” Lotor ventures, the faintest lick of warmth touching his ears as he mulls over his statement. A small silence follows. “You surely recall… how that was… a thing.”

Allura’s heart goes out to him as he tries to lightly clear his throat, his composure swapped for one of the odd Earth phrases he must’ve heard around the castle and useful when nothing within the realm of sense seems to fit.

A thing.

The tapered corners of his eyes go narrow and squinty with regret.

“Well,” Allura says in grave seriousness, it’s all she can do to prevent herself from giggling at the direction their overtired reminiscing seems to have taken. “It certainly wasn’t a thing on Altea.”

She holds Lotor’s stare, and for a moment she almost manages it, before her mouth quirks, and Lotor breathes out- quietly and genuinely and like he can’t help it at all. He rests his head against the Sincline ship, then lays back across the floor instead, draws his big hands over his face, looking more drained and amused than she’s ever seen him.

Allura props herself on her elbow barely an arms-length from him, her cheeks pinched with what she’s sure is at least a faintly ridiculous grin.

“May I clarify that this was near ten thousand deca-pheobs past?” Lotor brushes a palm over his chest, the gesture oddly self-conscious, as if he’s not used to hearing himself laugh. “And also... considering the number of occasions I could’ve mentioned… I’m dreadfully sorry?”

Allura grins again, and Lotor scuffs the pads of his fingers to his eyes, then drapes the inside of his arm over his face. He tries to make the gesture inconsequential, but Allura suspects he’s perhaps more embarrassed that he’s now outright blushing than for the lapse in manner.

“Was the point at least thoroughly made?” Allura asks wryly, she can just make out Lotor’s smile tugging upwards under the crook of his arm.

“Oh, unquestionably,” he offers. “And Dayak’s even more so.”

He shifts ever so slightly to face her, and though the floor is hard, her muscles ache and the hangar is several notches cooler than the rest of the castle, Allura suddenly feels closer to home than she can remember.

For once, thinking of home doesn’t feel like desperately trying not to.

Lotor reaches up to one of the craft’s emergency hatches to offer Allura a blanket, then carefully tears open two hydration packets as he recounts the gruelling three-day marathon his efforts won him. Daunting as it sounds, Allura can’t help but imagine Coran enthusiastically assigning the paladins such a task any quintant of the week.

“What I’m trying to say,” Lotor says softly, the faint plum at his cheeks now only from Allura’s enjoyment of the tale. “Is that I’m glad you could meet her. More than glad,” he adds, sincere. “In spite of what may have been an initially poor attempt at showing it.”

“It wasn’t a poor attempt,” Allura says gently, and she instinctively moves her fingers toward his, feeling more than a tad silly on realising she’s still wrapped in the blanket, and Lotor can’t see her hand at all. She scrunches her nose, begging her ears not to do their embarrassed-droopy thing, then gives him a heartfelt smile instead.

He smiles back, and in spite of all his attempts to be subtle, his gaze seems to rest on her ears a fraction longer than he means. Lotor quirks a worried brow.

“I promise, I truly was very youn-”

“No, no, it’s not that-” Allura says hastily, she’s quite sure Lotor’s not about to commence any similar activities onboard the castle. That doesn’t, however, prevent her ears from drooping worse and worse the more she tries to stop it, Lotor looking guiltier with each passing tic, until Allura finally untangles both arms from the blanket, cups her hand around his and hopes to all the ancients that her fingers aren’t trembling from how much she’s wanted to.

Lotor goes so very still, his hand uncurled beneath Allura’s, thumb bent against her palm and the edge of his nail lightly pressed into her skin. She doesn’t even think he’s breathing, as if he’s not made for this moment, that the next will catch up too soon.

Allura curves her smaller thumb around his, squeezes ever so slightly as she finds the smooth dips of his knuckles, then gently twines her fingers between.

“Meeting her- it meant a lot to me,” Allura tries, Lotor’s eyes lowering in surprise as he hears her speak in Galran. His lips part, then press together, he draws the clasp of their fingers against his chest.

Allura feels the lift of their hands as he breathes. She tells him again- she doesn’t even mean to- but like in so many ways when she’s with him, a part of her wants to bring him home too.

-

**Author's Note:**

> tysm for reading! c': comments & kudos are always adored and appreciated <3
> 
> [@sillyshiro](http://sillyshiro.tumblr.com) on tumblr~! ♡ I'm not super active there these days but vld fic prompts are still always welcome! :'>


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